


hold onto me

by light_boxi



Series: history’s losers [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Brief Mention of Blood, Gen, Mentions of alcohol, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 10:36:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12319317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/light_boxi/pseuds/light_boxi
Summary: the time James Monroe realized that he can’t take care of himself





	hold onto me

**Author's Note:**

> Faceclaim for James Monroe: Nash Aguas

Wake up.  
Cell phone’s alarm keeps going off.  
Wake up.  
Hit it and it turns off.

Now it’s quiet.  
Rub tired eyes and look around.  
Leather sticks to skin when trying to move.  
Crashed on the couch last night.  
Again.  
Sit up, try to focus.

5 empty beer bottles scattered around.  
Drinking again, not out of the ordinary.  
4 people debating on the TV.  
The news, muted, it’s been on all night.  
3 seconds between pounds of a headache.  
Hangovers, he should be used to them by now.  
2 Advil tablets on the coffee table.  
1 note’s folded up next to them.

“Eat these when you wake up. There’s money on the kitchen counter, order some lunch.  
Don’t forget to take your meds.  
(p.s. could you fold the laundry, please?)  
\- Dolls”

Dolley’s out for work - another 9 to 5 shift - which means Payne’s out to daycare - how the caretakers tolerate him is a mystery - which means Monroe’s all alone.

_Nothing new. The day starts._

Take the Advil, turn off the TV, throw away the bottles, grab the water, walk to the bathroom, open the medicine cabinet, mix a dose of Zoloft with the water, drink, swallow.

A sticky note on the mirror, “Clean yourself up.”

He looks tired, and unkept, and sad. Light brown hands disappear into a curly mess of dark hair. One hand trails down the side of his face, soft palms scratching again the roughness of his 5 o’clock shadow.

Check phone, it’s 10:37 a.m, he has time.

Turn on the sink, splash your face with water. Shaving cream covers the lower half of his face. He picks up the razor.

It’s a bit dull, but there’s no other blades so it’ll have to do. It turns into another routine: shave a section, rinse the blade, repeat. Shave, rinse, repeat until it’s done.

Put down the razor, wash your face. There’s a nick on the side of his jaw, a drop of blood slowly runs down his neck. 

_Oh._

Fingertips follow the path of the blood. Pull back, stained red and sticky.

Wash your hands, clean off the blood, grab a tissue, put it under cold water, and hold it to the nick until it stops bleeding. Open the first aid kit under the sink, pull out a box of bandaids. It’s a pack of the kids brand - now there’s a Mickey Mouse on the side of his face.

_He laughs._

Rub in the aftershave. It burns, a lot, a hiss leaves his mouth, but it’ll be fine. Look back up the mirror, dark brown eyes are looking back. Tired, sad, a bit scared. Why? He doesn’t know.

Hands travel back up his face, soft palms over a now soft face. Focused on his reflection, counting freckles on his cheeks like he’s done a million time. It always feels like more appear every morning. 

Hurry up and brush your teeth, comb your hair, look nice.

Check the time again, 10:59 a.m, take a moment and stare at the phone.

The lock screen is one of his favorite pictures. It’s of Elizabeth and Buddy, a stray puppy Monroe had taken in during his freshman year. The picture’s a few years old, they were juniors in college. Elizabeth was looking into the camera with a strange mix of happiness and shock.

It’d been funny, the dorms didn’t allow pets so Monroe had been hiding his dog from the RA. The photo had captured Elizabeth’s reaction at hearing that even throughout all the dorm checks, the RA never noticed Buddy.

Turn the phone back off, Buddy lives with Elizabeth now, stop reminiscing and get back to the routine.

Go to your room, change your shirt, pull on some pants; look presentable. You’re not going anywhere, but look nice.

Dolley said fold the laundry, he didn’t want to, but she’d be too tired to when she got home to do so. Dolley hated her job, but until a better one came on the market it’s what she had to endure to provide for her family.

No, not her family, that wouldn’t include Monroe. Monroe didn’t deserve to be here, but Dolley lets him stay.

The least he could do was fold the laundry. Besides it busied him for a while.

Pull the over the basket, sit down on the floor, fold the clothes.

The clothes are soft and smell of roses. He loved roses.

Check the time, 11:33 a.m. There we’re lots of clothes, and he folds them rather slow.

Now the clothes were folded.

There wasn’t anything else to do.

His hands fidgeted and grabbed at the carpet. The money for lunch was still on the counter, but Monroe didn’t feel like eating. He’d been eating less for a while now.

He could watch TV, but that’d get boring quick. Nothing interesting was ever on, and the newscasters always made everything seem so sad. The news was his drunk show.

A million opinions went through his head until he settled on something: go out into the garden. The garden always calmed him down.

Stand up, stretch, slip on some shoes, walk out the back door.

It’s calm, a few birds sing, a few more clouds litter the sky. Still, it’s almost too quiet for Monroe’s liking.

His phone rings, the harsh sound silenced the area around him. He picks up, the time’s 11:48a.m.

_“Hello?”_

“Hey James.” It’s Dolley, he sighs in relief.

“Hi Dolls, what’s up?” He keeps his voice casual, or at least he tries.

“Just checking up on you-“

“Dolley I’m a grown man, I can take care of myself.” That’s a lie, he’d be mess without the reminders Dolley leaves for him.

“I know, I know,” There’s a brief pause, “Did you take your meds?” 

“Yes.” Even though she’s not there, he nods.

“Did you clean up?”

“Yes.”

“Did you fold the laundry?”

“Yes.” He’s started wandering around, looking at the various flowers in bloom.

Another pause.

“Where are you?”

“Garden.”

“Why?”

“It’s nice out today.”

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just making sure.”

“Okay.”

A few more seconds of silence. 

“I’ll be home in a few hours, see you then?”

“Okay.”

_”Okay.”_

She hangs up. Pocket your phone, kick the dirt around, scratch at your arms. 

_No, stop that. It’s a bad habit you’re gonna hurt yourself._

And everything else I do isn’t?

It’s quiet, he’s lonely, there’s no more notes to follow. He goes back inside.

It’s 11:38 a.m. and Monroe’s back on the couch. A bottle of beer’s on the floor. The news is on. He slips out of consciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Zoloft is an antidepressant that’s commonly used as a treatment for depression and anxiety.
> 
>  
> 
> Talk to me on Instagram: @light.boxi


End file.
